


Winter's Night

by LadyCosmos



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, Longing, M/M, holding hands theme, makoharu festival entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCosmos/pseuds/LadyCosmos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A phone call on a cold winter’s night has Makoto longing to be home with Haru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Night

Makoto awoke with a start when his phone buzzed loudly across his desk.  Groggily, he reached out, head still pillowed on his open book, and answered without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” he croaked, trying to swallow a mouth of fuzz.

“Makoto,” the voice on the other end breathed out softly, as if his name was a prayer.

“Haru!” Makoto pushed himself off his books and looked around for a clock.  How long had he been asleep?  How late was it?  How could he let himself doze off while studying?  It was dark outside and his room was cold.  Shivering, he reached for the blanket on his bed to wrap himself in it.

“Were you sleeping?” Concern lightly tinted Haru’s voice, making Makoto smile softly.

“Ah.  Just dozed off while studying.  It’s a good thing you woke me up,” he chuckled quietly, burrowing deeper into the blanket.  Out of the corner of his eye, Makoto could see snow falling outside his window.  The streetlights created a gentle glow through the falling flakes. “It’s snowing.”

There was a soft rustle on the other side of the phone; Makoto could picture Haru shuffling around slowly, wrapped in a dozen blankets to ward off the cold.  It brought a smile to his lips but a pang of longing in his stomach.  Winter break wasn’t for another few weeks and, even then, Makoto wasn’t sure how much time he’d be able to devote to Haru.  It had been too long since they’d been able to see each other and Makoto was becoming more cognizant of the empty place by his side with each day that passed.

 “It’s cold.” Haru stated almost indifferently.

Makoto hummed his agreement, understanding what Haru was telling him with so few words.

_It’s cold without you.  I don’t like when you’re gone.  I wish you were here to keep me warm._

He wondered if it was snowing in Iwatobi; if the shrine steps were covered this year and Haru was taking care of himself as he walked up and down them.  He wondered if Haru pulled out the _kotatsu_ and if he had, did he still sleep under it at night?

“I hope you’re not spending too much time in the bathtub.  You’ll catch a cold if you’re not careful.” He’d given the same warning for years.  He doubted Haru heard what he said anymore, but he would worry and warn him nonetheless because it had become as much a part of their relationship as Haru’s affinity for water. 

“I’ll be fine,” Haru snorted on the other end.  A sharp whistle sounded in the background and Makoto heard some more rustling before the sound of glass clinking.

“Haru, what are you doing?” Although it wasn’t late, it was rare for Haru to call when he knew Makoto would be busy.  Worrying thoughts flitted through his mind briefly before he rationalized that if anything were wrong, Haru would have told him by now.

“Making tea.” There was an audible hiss and Makoto closed his eyes to picture Haru shaking his hand in pain after picking up a hot cup.  He could almost smell the _hojicha_ that Haru favored during winter as he pictured Haru curling up on the sofa, hands wrapped around the mug and the phone cradled between his ear and the blankets.

“It’s late for tea, isn’t it?”

The snow continued to fall outside as the trees rustled softly in the wind and lulling Makoto back into a drowsy half-sleep.  Shaking his head, he stood from his chair and stretched deeply before leaning against the wall to look out the window.  Frost and fog lightly covered the window pane making the outside world blurry.  Makoto reached out to clear a small spot on the glass to watch the snowfall.

“It’s hot and keeps my hands warm.” Haru’s voice was a bit muffled, probably softened by the blanket he had surely cocooned himself in.  He had never liked the cold and Makoto fondly remembered winter nights with Haru curled up beside him, his hands and feet tucked between Makoto’s seeking warmth.

Slowly, Makoto’s fingers traced patterns along the windowpane.  He remembered how cold Haru’s hands were on the walks home from school, their fingers threaded together because Haru never brought gloves.  He’d wake up in the middle of the night to find Haru shivering against him, only stopping when Makoto wrapped them both tightly in the bed covers with his arms wrapped around Haru, pulling him close.

He missed pulling Haru out of the bath on a cold morning, wrapping him up and hugging him through a fluffy towel.  Or how Haru would seek him out when they had outdoor PE so Makoto would act as a cover for the wind.  Watching movies with Haru curled up in his lap, a blanket covering them both.  Arguing over mackerel for every meal or Makoto’s horrible cooking skills.  Secretly holding hands beneath their winter jackets as they walked around town.

Makoto’s sigh fogged the window as he imagined Haru’s hand against his.  His touch would be cold like the glass, only warming from the contact with Makoto.  Haru’s slender fingers always fit snuggly between his own as his thumb would rub slow circles on the back of Haru’s hand, warming it.  Makoto’s fingers curled against the glass as he remembered the feel of Haru’s hand; remembered how small Haru’s hand felt tucked safely against his.

But as much as the feeling reminded him of Haru, it could never replace the real thing.

It had been too long since they’d been able to spend time together.  Makoto could see the space Haru usually filled next to him; could feel the empty spot in his chest that Haru filled.  It was becoming more difficult with every passing night not to leave and hurry back to Iwatobi.

“Your hands are always cold,” Makoto smiled into the phone, pressing his palm against the window. “Your feet, too.”

“Makoto is always warm.” Haru spoke softly but Makoto could hear the affection in his voice.  It made his chest feel warm and tight. “I feel warmer when you’re with me.”

“Haru…” Makoto sighed, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the wall.  He could hear the soft fall of snow on his right side and the gentle rustle of Haru’s breathing on the left.  It eased the tension in his chest as he stood there for minutes, or hours, only aware of Haru on the other end of the phone as he held a cup of tea in place of Makoto’s warmth.

Makoto wondered if Haru drank the tea at all or if he just made it to hold.  He wondered if Haru imagined Makoto’s hands as he held the warm mug.  Did he miss Makoto as much as Makoto missed him?  Did he feel safe tucked against Makoto?  Did he want to hold Makoto’s hand as much as Makoto wanted to hold his?

A cup of tea couldn’t keep Haru’s hands warm for long.  It couldn’t reach that perpetual cold spot on the back of Haru’s hand right at the bottom of his wrist.  It couldn’t wrap around him on a cold winter’s night; rub his hands together until they warmed up.  It could never be a replacement for Makoto.

 “Next year,” Makoto cleared his throat, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Next year I’ll definitely be there to hold your hands.  To keep you warm.”

One more year and Makoto would never leave Haru’s side again.

“Promise,” Haru whispered over the phone.  Makoto smiled.

“Promise.  I’ll never let go again.”


End file.
